


Jailbird Droog

by SocialClass



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2474879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialClass/pseuds/SocialClass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months ago, Detective Sleuth finally booked Droog for the slammer; the ecstatic detective having little knowledge of what goes on behind the cement walls to "pretty boys" like Droog. As Spades Slick reintroduces his buddy Diamonds Droog back into the city, his dearest friend and partner in crime begins to exhibit more emotion behind subjects kept to less than a whisper in the sinful city they call home. In concern and worry for his friend, Slick decides to snoop around in matters that were never a problem for them to begin with, but upon discovering the horrid truth, what could Slick possibly do to make those experiences disappear?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Booked til' December

**Author's Note:**

> Keep in mind that I began writing this in the late night of a slight tipsy slur; the voices of the characters aren't completely in character, but it's also been a very long time since I've taken the time to sit down and write out things like this. Bear with me. I'm sure it'll get better soon (hopefully).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm completely rewriting this, and currently have up until Chapter 2 edited.  
> I'll most certainly delete these notes once the full story is updated*

Droog had gone to jail.  
Sleuth caught him and booked him for the slammer quite a few months again, and unfortunately, there was nothing Spades, or his team of attorneys, could do about it.  
It was a solid case with solid evidence, including a testimony against Droog and his actions that night. Open and shut. Not even an alibi could save him. And considering the jury was off limits from the mob’s clutches to either pay off or scare off - damn those new protection laws - Spades couldn’t do a damn thing but be force-fed this horse shit. Sleuth will pay, he’ll make sure of that.

The court date was set and the outcome was expected: Droog was most certainly going to prison. The “victim” testifying was a low-life bastard from the slums that owed Spades some money. Generally, Droog wasn’t one to handle the dirty work, but it had been long enough and bills don’t pay themselves. Amidst the bloody sputters and cries from the low-life, it turned into a situation of ‘wrong place, wrong time’ when a drunken Sleuth stumbled upon the scene. Almost immediately, right then and there, Droog was cuffed and booked for the night in a holding cell. During the trial, the “victim” sputtered and squealed a lie about why Droog was driving the broken edge of a glass bottle into his gut.  
It wasn’t much, but it was just enough to keep him alive another day. The pitiful bastard knew better than to rat about the _real_ reason why. This sufficed Spades just enough, to say the least. It meant he had yet another day to rest easier without the fuzz crossing his path. It’s bad enough Sleuth’s up his ass constantly, so the last thing he needed was another reason to sleep with his good eye open. However, during the recess, Droog and his attorney were approached with a small opportunity for a plea bargain. Droog pleads guilty for the lesser charge of Attempted Manslaughter, instead of First-Degree Attempted Murder, and the judge sprinkles on the possibility of parole in a few years if he has good behavior.  
Done.  
Needless to say, the judge held no sympathy for the mobster. Even if this was his first booking, with his association to Spades Slick and the infamous Mafia that plagued the town, there was no room to slap him on the wrist and let him go. His official time was set: 10 years behind bars for Attempted Manslaughter. Spades wasn’t pleased with this result, but it was already signed and accepted. The case was dismissed, and Droog was taken back to his small cell once again.

It’s been almost two long and grueling years now. To Spades, business was running slow but he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. There was nothing he could do, really. His visitation was limited by the judge to twice a month, and Spades spent those two golden opportunities very wisely. At first he would drop by at the start of the month and then toward the middle of the month, every month… but slowly, he started getting cold-feet on his friend.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see him, he just couldn’t bear to face his old friend’s crushed expressions hidden behind the facade that everything was fine. When they said prison changes a man, they truly don’t lie; Spades has never seen a more broken and worn down man still trying to keep it together. He wasn’t sure what was worse: the worried look his best friend gave him when he left, or how his voice would shake nearing the end of their visits.  
They shaved off his hair and changed his clothes. Droog was unrecognizable the first few times Spades went in to see him. He wasn’t used to seeing the dapper male in anything outside of his slicked hair and well-fitted suit. But over time, he began to mundanely picture Droog with the expectation of the shaved hair and orange jumpsuit.

At the start of this month, after almost half a year of pure silence from Spades, he was looking forward to seeing his good old friend. Slick’s attorney had checked in with him earlier in the week to mention the possibility of parole for good behavior. Initially, Spades was ecstatic to hear that. Initially.  
Upon further investigation, the joyous idea that his best friend could get out early and come home turned into a bit of a nightmare. Droog could get out, yes, but he would have to report to an officer twice every week, have an honest job before the end of the month from when he got out, and wear a collar around his ankle for another year. It didn’t sound too bad at first, but then the kicker of the deal is what nailed him. The spiteful addition to all of this, made by the same judge who took his best friend away, was: no visitors. Not until the next hearing on Droog’s behavior. It’s that nail in the coffin that sold Spades on his next endeavor… after Droog gets a homerun from this entire shitshow.

As the first of the month came around, Spades knew Droog would be more than ecstatic to hear this news, and Spades would be even more ecstatic to deliver that news. As soon as he could, he went out of his way to visit his old friend. While nearing the end of their visit, Spades briefly slipped in the idea that was promised by his attorney. As soon as he let it slip, he watched his broken-looking friend light up, and for the first time in a long time, he saw a look he had not seen in ages etch itself into the face of his right-hand man: joy.

 

 **December  
** Finally, the day arrived but not soon enough. It was late December, and Droog was reluctant to attend his final hearing. Speaking to him carefully, the judge agreed to have the brace removed after the review and his parole was spent in good favor. He was told to try and live a “normal” life and to keep his head out of trouble, all generic nonsense a justice system spews to good kids. Droog nodded his head and kissed ass to all he needed to kiss ass to, and at the end of it all, Droog was finally a free man.  
Outside the courthouse, he was greeted by his best friend at the bottom of the courthouse steps. Needless to say, Spades Slick was eager enough to greet his old pal, even going as far as to kiss the man on both cheeks and hug him tightly as he let out a deep sigh. “Slick,” Droog heaved as he was held in a crushing hug. “It feels like it’s been forever.” Spades let out a hearty laugh as he patted Droog on the back, nodding his head in the crook of Droog’s neck.  
“You took it like a man for getting pinched, y’know?” Spades cracked. Droog rolled his eyes, “Congrats, Droogy, they popped your cherry!”  
“You’re still as crude and disgusting  as ever,” Droog grunted quietly as Spades opened the passenger door. As Droog got in, Spades crackled out another scratchy laugh and ran around to jump in the driver side.  
“It’s been, what… almost four years?” Spades sighed and started up the engine. “Almost.” Droog nodded his head and then shook it with realization. He glanced down at his lap with a gentle smile crossing his lips.  
“Already?” He murmured softly, “...it feels so much longer than that, Jack.”  
“Hey!” Spades barked abruptly, “You know fuckin’ better than to call me that shit-name.” Droog raised his hands to his chest and glanced at Slick with a crooked grin. “I’ll let it slide this time, because it’s been awhile and I missed ya. But I’ll snap your fingers off if you let it slip again.”  
“Yeah, sorry,” Droog apologized. Slick was caught off guard by that verbal response. Droog was never one to apologize, not even to Slick. He raised a brow at the man but chose to remain silent. Turning his own attention back to pulling out of that hellhole and getting on the road, he headed on towards the direction of their favorite rickety little bar. As he sped on towards their favorite spot, Droog watched in silence and in awe at the new buildings that had been erected during his sentence. He also bit his cheek at the few shops he favored that have since closed down.

“Things have been rough without you here.” Spades broke the silence, “It’s not easy lugging around the other two idiots when you have your own things to worry about, you know?” Droog eyed him for a moment and then turned his attention back to the passenger window. He nodded silently in agreement, “It just hasn’t been the same. Debts piled up and neither Boxcars nor Deuce want to handle any of the dirty work themselves. Admittedly, they’re afraid of ending up like you.” He paused, “Honestly, Droog, if I could, I would have taken Sleuth out a long time ago. He’s just too high-risk.”  
“Are you apologizing to me, now?” Droog raised a brow. Slick growled at him.  
“Don’t get any ideas, Droog. You know that’s not what this is.”  
“I see,” Droog responded playfully, “apology accepted.” Slick rolled his eyes and quickly whipped into the parking lot of that seedy little bar Droog fancied from time-to-time. As they came to park, Droog looked around in slight confusion, “Are we… not picking up the other two?”  
“They’re already here,” Spades waved his hand as he got out of the car. Almost immediately, he lit up a cigarette and offered it to Droog who followed close behind.  
“Really?”  
“Uh, duh, Droog, we’ve been planning to take you out here as soon as you got out of the slammer. After all,” He opened the bar door for the dapper young male, “I think you deserve a couple rounds to wash all that shit down.” Droog offered a sound of agreement and fell back into silence as he smoked his new cigarette.

  
A number of mixed shots in and Spades watched in sweet surprise as his friend downed yet another high-numbered shot of liquor. How many rounds have they gone? Ah… Spades honestly couldn’t remember at this point. He lost count after five… six shots? Topping the shots with some whiskey or beer, or anything they could get their mitts on, they all knew and accepted that they would regret this either later tonight or well into tomorrow morning. It was a pleasure seeing Droog and the others so pleased with each other’s presence, to say the least. Spades was pleased by the sight.  
As Droog leaned heavily against the their booth table, Spades set down his beer bottle and nudged lightly at Droog’s arm. “So tell me,” He slurred, “which one’s worse in prison: the number of cops or the cafeteria food?” Droog sat up, leaning back against his seat, arms stretching across the top on either side of the booth. Taking in a sharp breath, he looked up at the ceiling, mouth falling open as he gave it some thought.  
“I would have t’say those ole’assholes in blue uniforms,” Droog grinned. “As good as those things looked, they were real pricks. Real shove-y and bossy… the food only blinked occasionally. At least on those days, you could hold a more casual conversation with your lunch and not be beat.” Slick shoved him slightly and cracked a wide grin.  
“I was about to say,” Slick laughed, “if ya’ said the food, I’d have to ask whose dick you were suckin’ in jail!” The rest of the men cracked into laughter at the joke, but Droog hesitated in joining in. He glanced around the bar for a moment, and then motioned their waitress over with his glass in the air for more. As she took the mobster’s drink, Spades sniffled and huffed quietly, smiling at his right-hand man. “I’m real glad you’re home, Diamonds. The crew would be incomplete without ya’....”  
“Yeah?” Droog asked as he tossed back his shot in one go, while his beer was being opened for him.  
“Yeah, Droog, I really mean it,” Spades sighed as the rest of the crew calmed down. “It’s been real slow without ya’, and all this time I’ve been pacing back and forth, worried you’d become somebody’s bi—”  
“It’s been incomplete without me for almost four years, Spades!” Droog interrupted, “Why  don’t we take back that time?” Spades stopped eyeing his empty glass carefully to focus his attention on Droog. He rolled his tongue across his teeth with suspicion before his mouth grew into a wide grin. Spades Slick lowered his head and nodded as he pointed at the man in a slurred motion.  
“See, see,” Spades slurred, “this is what I mean. The crew’s really missed ya’. You keep me on track, Droogy-ole-boy; this is why I need ya’ here!” Droog smirked slyly and raised his beer bottle to meet Slick’s. The rest of the men joined in, “A toast to Droog coming home! May he never have to go back to Hell until he’s hit a bullet between the eyes!”

  
That night, they drank.  
Shot after shot, round after round; their wallets becoming starved for cash as they ran out of things to try.  Soon enough, they found themselves lugging each other home on foot. They were careful to avoid high-cop areas, knowing full well Public Intoxication would get them a night in the cage. Spades knew Droog had been inside one too many cages for his lifetime, and assured his anxious buddy throughout the night that nothing would happen to him. One by one, they each dropped each other off at home. First Deuce, then Boxcars… Droog was next.

As the two boys cut through the park, they held each other arm-in-arm, keeping them on a straight path through the dead grass in December’s chill. Droog hiccuped and swayed as he picked out his own keys to his house. Before he could help it, a question slid out of his mouth, “Hey, Slick?”  
“That’s m’name, buddy-ole-pal o’mine….. What’cha need?” Slick glanced up at the taller shadow who seemed to be lost in all sorts of drunken thoughts. Droog licked at his lips slightly and fumbled to unlock the door.  
“I was wondering if ya’d… keep me company tonight.”  
“What, you mean stay with you?”  
“Yeah….” Droog mewed softly, managing to unlock the door finally. He could barely feel his fingers in this icy weather, and the alcohol most certainly wasn’t helping.  
“What, are ya’ too pussy to sleep alone now?”  
“No, no, no,” Droog heaved a cold, breathy laugh, “I’ve spent too—far too much time alone—alone, alone, alone….” He quieted to a mumble as he repeated himself a couple times, “I want a little company now that I can—can have it and all, so…” He opened the door and stepped inside, “Will you stay with me—stay with me for a couple of nights?”  
“A couple?” Spades was taken aback by the idea, enough to sober him up slightly. That’s an awfully unusual request for Droog, the man who loved solitary confinement any chance he could get it. Spades rolled his eyes, “Ya’ rambling drunk; you’re probably going to need me tomorrow anyway, when ya’ wake up…. Sure, bud, yeah, I’ll stay with’cha.” Droog nodded his head a little.  
“Thank y’—” He was interrupted by a hiccup as Spades entered into the house. As they made their way into his livingroom, Spades and Droog didn’t really care about passing out on the couch together. After a few minutes of talking and joking, they both nodded off unexpectedly in each other’s embrace.

Somewhere in the midst of the night, Droog had moved himself from the livingroom to his bedroom, leaving Spades alone on the couch. Also somewhere in the midst of the night, Droog began to throw a fit in his sleep. In the back of the house, a safer distance from the livingroom, Droog thrashed in bed - kicking and beating at the mattress and sheets as he let out a distressed cry - alone in the darkness of his sealed off room.

  
In the early morning mist, sunlight flickered in through a thinly-curtained sliding glass door. The light tickled and played at Slick’s eyes, flickering ever so often enough to annoy and wake the hungover mobster. As Slick sat up with a heavy groan, he found a blanket laced over him carefully and a bucket next to him in case he were sick. As Slick roused, he found himself sitting up with an aching headache that told him what happened in the blank-night before. Groggily, he glanced around the room, eyes still fuzzy from the hard sleep he was just in. His eyes fell down to the neatly kept coffee table containing a glass of water, aspirin - which never worked - and some Tylenol. Evidently, a cup of black coffee that still steamed fresh waited for his attention as well.  
His sockless feet embraced the cool soft carpet under him as he wrapped the blanket around his body and reached out to fix himself a glass of mineral-water. He choked it down rather quickly, and immediately turned his attention the mug of coffee waiting for him. As he began to sip on it, the sound of running water stopped. Soon, a half-naked man approached from the bathroom down the hallway, and Slick took a few moments to adjust to what he was seeing. His eyes trailed up from a white towel to a well-chiseled body and finally stopped at the face of his right-hand man. Droog?

Droog stood there looking like shit, but he looked like a cleaned shit. Spades squinted at the man, and Droog simply waved tiredly at him before turning on his heel and pacing quickly to his own room to dress. Spades kept his lips on the mug of coffee he was given and waited for his friend to reemerge. When Droog finally made his second appearance, he was careful to close doors quietly and sat down next to Slick, where he then popped back a few painkillers. Slick smirked slightly, a hand coming to cover up his bad eye - his eyepatch and other belongings were askew from his usual figure, as well as… pants? - and glanced up at Droog, “Crazy-ass night or what?” Spades cut the silence. Droog simply smirked and shook his head.  
“I don’t remember,” he mumbled softly. Spades simply elbowed him gently and chuckled. “You smell like stale booze and cigarettes, you need a shower.”  
“I got no clothes to change into,” Spades motioned at himself and grunted.  
“I’ve got your clothes in the wash. They should be dried by the time you get out of the shower,” Droog mused. “In the meantime, I don’t think we’ll be leaving here for awhile. You can bear a few minutes of walking in a towel if they’re not done.”  
“Yeah, yeah; fine,” Spades groaned. Both of their voices were gravelly and rough, showing that whatever had happened that night took a real toll on them. Their throats hurt - especially Droog’s - as did their lungs from the excessive smoking. Droog couldn’t remember too much, in all honesty. At least, nothing past the point of taking his fourth or fifth shot of who-knows-what and up until his nightmare that woke him no later than three this morning that’s kept him sleepless since.

While Slick showered, Droog took the liberty of tossing Slick’s belongings in the dryer before jotting off to make some breakfast. No later than fifteen after eight, Spades stepped out of the shower with Droog’s towel wrapped tightly around his scrawny waist. With legs and feet dry of water, he stepped out of the bathroom, only to be greeted by the smell of pork and eggs waiting for him down the hall. For a cranky and hungover man, Spades was more than excited to get his rear-end to the kitchen for breakfast. There were two things missed about his buddy Droog: handling the dirty work and his home cooking.


	2. Happy New Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've edited up to this much. The rest from here is completely old work. *  
> I'll delete these messages once this is updated further*

The champagne cork popped off with a resounding fizzle from its container, greeting the mobsters’ ears. Now was the start of a brand new year with brand new ambitions for the crime syndicate, and Spades Slick was more than ready to kick of this new year with a _bang_ .  
As many associates and hard-working citizens from around town clapped and hollered at the midnight clock, while the boys from the crew lounged and relaxed in an upstairs booth at the crowded City Hall. Big Band Swing jazzed out in the background, and amidst the commotion of party-goers, Spades Slick gave a gruff sigh and nodded his head in time to the beat of the music. “Yeah,” he purred. “ _This_ is what the city life is about. At least, this is what it should be about. Celebration and tribute to yours truly,” he cracked a grin. Boxcars and Deuce nodded slightly as Droog lit a cigarette. “Champagne, dames, music—this is what life is about. Don’t ya’ agree, Droogy? Carefully holding a cigarette between his fingers, Droog raised his glass gingerly and smirked.  
“A bit big, if you ask me, but it’s doable.”  
“Ah, shut it ya’ pansy. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Droog rolled his eyes and relaxed back into his seat. Slick gave a toothy grin and shook his head, “I’m just fuckin’ with ya’ Droog, come on… take a joke.”  
“It’s alright, Sick,” he mused softly before he was nudged into a grin a grin again. Slick ordered a few more glasses of champagne as the waitresses made their rounds. As the men were eager to kick off the new year, Slick kept eyeing the clock with anticipation. An hour couldn’t pass soon enough.  
“So, Droogy,” Slick mused as he was given a new glass, “you take care of that thing for me?” He raised a brow, eyeing Droog. Droog raised his arms up to rest on the back of the booth as he smoked through his cigarette. He gave a glance at Spades with a questionable expression.  
“What, you’re paperwork? I couldn’t, Slick,” Droog murmured. “Not right away at least, I had to take a detour—roads are under construction or something.” Slick’s excited expression dropped suddenly, but Droog paid no attention to it, “It’s not _that_ surprising, honestly.” Accepting another glass of champagne, himself, Droog offered Slick a cheeky smirk and a wink, “Thankfully, offices were open a little later than usual. I managed to deliver your paperwork on time, no worries. I cleaned your office while I was at it.”  
“Kiss ass,” Spades grumbled softly under his breath.  
“Only for the new year.”

After some time of songs playing and flirtatious gestures towards waitresses and other wandering dames, Slick offered some new insight on his plans for the year. “So, Droog,” Slick motioned away the waitress and lit up a new cigarette, “I’ve been thinking of new ways to get back at Sleuth for what he did to ya’. I’ll talk more about the schematics of this idea later, but I wanted to let ya’ know it’s not gonna be easy.”  
“Pulling out the big words now?” Droog scoffed “You’ve been real anxious to give us the news, I presume.” Droog glanced down at his watch as Spades rambled off about nothing. 1:00am. Noting the time, he ashed out his cigarette and stood up.  Glancing over Slick’s shoulders to the main hall then down at his watch, he interrupted Spades, “Well, it’s about that time, Slick.”  
Slick jumped up fo a moment, spotting the time. A wicked grin grew across his cheeks and a malicious tone almost immediately set in, “Already, eh?” Slick began to laugh with excitement. “Well, Droogy-ole-boy, you know what to do…” Slick and the rest of the crew gathered their things. Slipping on his jacket, Droog nodded and fixed his tie and cufflinks.  
“Right….” He drawled and headed towards the main hall, eyeing the restrooms. Spades raised a brow and watched him wander away, giving a confused glare at the tall man.  
“Droog, the exit’s the other way—” Spades thumbed behind himself as Droog continued.  
“I have to take a piss,” Droog called back at his boss. Slick grimaced and waved him off as he turned around to leave.  
“Don’t take too long, ya’ mutt,” Slick grunted, “we’ll be waiting in the car.”

  
Crossing the wide hallway, Droog made a b-line straight for the restroom. As soon as he entered the presumably empty room, he slipped on a pair of black leather gloves and then locked the door behind him. As he casually strolled down the empty stalls, he came upon the handicap stall, finding it closed—locked.  
He tapped lightly on the stall, which rewarded an assertive and gruff scoff that echoed through the room. Not satisfied, Droog waited for a moment before knocking again with a little more haste. “Ahem!” A gruff voice scoffed even louder this time; however, Droog didn’t relent on his pestering. He continued knocking equally to what he did before, which offered him a sudden, “I don’t know if you know this, ya’ drunkard, but the stall’s taken.” This time Droog began to hammer on the door, rewarding him with sound of rustling pants and a belt in between each piercing clang of the stall door. Droog stopped almost immediately as soon as he heard the stall door unlock, “I don’t know who you think you are, but—” idiot.  
Droog kicked the door open, sending the man on the other side to fall flat on his ass on the filthy floor under him. As Droog entered the stall, his cold blue eyes glared down at the dazed officer on the floor, “Correction,” Droog murmured, “ _I don’t think you know who I am_ ,” he growled. The officer’s eyes grew wide, quickly recognizing the man towering over him. Startled, the officer began to fumble for his gun in its holster. This action quickly pissed off Droog, granting a knee ramming directly into the officers face. A pleasing crack ignited from the man’s nose as his head ricocheted off the wall behind him.    
Almost immediately, blood pooled from his nose, and Droog quickly seized the moment to pick up the extremely dazed man from the floor by the neck, “Don’t make this more difficult than what it has to be,” He grunted. Wrathful eyes bore into the man only Droog could recognize. The officer struggled against these movements as he felt himself being pressed into the wall. The officer’s hands were in a vice grip around Droog’s wrist. He wheezed for oxygen before finally piping up.  
“C-Come on,” he sputtered and heaved, “you don’t want to actually do this—” Droog remained silent, waiting to hear what kind of horse shit this pig would spew next, “—trust me, you don’t!” He offered a panicked laugh, “I-I know you’re angry! I would be too!” Droog’s fingers began to tighten around the man’s windpipe. The officer coughed abruptly as a hand fell down at his side. With his fingers inching closer to his taser, he said, “Can’t we put that all behind us and just—we got off on the wrong foot!” That’s enough of that.

With all his force he could muster, Droog tossed the man to the side, causing the officer to ram headfirst into the open edge of the bathroom stall door. Now laying on the floor, the man did not hesitate to try and slip out from under the now closed door, but Droog wouldn’t allow that. As soon as the guy made an inch of progress, sliding on his belly under the door, a loud bang from a gun echoed deafeningly in the small cavern. “Don’t be an idiot,” Droog murmured as the man let out a blood curdling scream as the bullet had penetrated the back of his knee.  
“Bastard—” The officer cried out, receiving himself another shot but in the other leg.  
“Shut up,” Droog demanded as the officer continued to cry out. Quickly growing frustrated, Droog reached down and grabbed ahold of the man’s hair to pull him up, “You’re getting blood everywhere.”  Which was true. Blood was certainly spewing from the officer’s nose, legs, and now his head where he gashed open his temple from the corner of the door. Yet, still, the officer cried out in haste, hoping for someone - anyone - to perhaps hear his plea.

  
From the outside of the bathroom, not a single bypasser was alarmed. The band was playing loud enough and close enough that far too many were preoccupied by the joyous haste of the party. It was enough for now, but Droog knew he would run out of time before the next song. If this man continued to wail like this, there’s the worrisome ‘maybe’ that someone just _might_ hear him.  
Meanwhile, Slick glared down at his watch, snorting and snarling in haste at the time that’s passing by. They have things to do tonight, what the hell is taking Diamonds so long? A few moments passed before Slick asked mundanely, “You think he fell in the toilet?”

  
“I said _shut up_ ,” Droog hissed as he pressed his gun in the back of the man’s head. The officer bit his tongue to keep quiet now, letting out quite sobs between hissing breathes. “Now stand,” Droog snarled under his breath. The officer let out a confused and pained hiss as he couldn’t even move his legs. This uncooperative behavior earned the officer a hard whack on the back of his head with the butt of the gun.   
Droog’s leather gloves gripped tightly into the officer’s hair as he began to pull him up to force him to stand. As the officer took painful and staggering steps, he bellowed out a very, very choked cry while tears welled in his eyes and made their escape quickly down his cheeks.  Droog offered a sinister smirk, and an eye twitching as he gave a taunting glare to the disgusting filth he tormented. “That’s it… squeal,” Droog coaxed as he pressed the gun to the bottom of the officers jaw. “Squeal like the little piggy you are,” He snarled, feeling pieces of the man’s hair begin to rip from his scalp.  
His eyes ran cold as the officer started to cry out again at the pain of putting pressure on his shot out knees. From behind the stall, Droog could hear the band begin to finish off their performance. At the peak of the music, Droog let go of the officer and fired a bullet directly into his jaw.  
Pressed into the wall, the officer slid down onto the floor as blood rushed out of his body, coating his uniform and his lap in fluids. Droog waited for a moment, watching as the light in the officer’s eyes finally died before he opened the bathroom stall door to leave. Droog was careful to clean up just enough to make sure it wasn’t too obvious what had happened. Whatever paper towels he used to wipe up some of the blood were disposed of in the toilet. Afterwards, he simply unlocked the door and left without a single word. Upon opening the door, Droog was diligent enough to simply slip his gloves off inside out and tuck them away carefully in his pockets. He’ll rid these later.

As he made his way outside, he spotted a few men entering the very same bathroom Droog had just left through a reflection in the exiting door. He waited a few moments, buying himself the time to light a cigarette as he watched the reflection of the door carefully. A few moments passed by and the same men that entered in, left without any alarm in their steps.

Good.

“What the hell took you so long!” Slick snarled from the car, entirely unaware of the gruesome event that had just taken place, “I thought you might have fallen in.”  
Droog rolled his eyes, “There was a line,” he muttered back. “No matter, let’s just get going. We’re already behind schedule.”  
“And who’s fault is that?” Slick rolled his eyes. The crew left without any further questions as Slick directed them to their new destination. The time now counted closer to 1:30am. Droog didn’t seem to mind the delay in time, however, even if there are officers occupying the streets. By the time they’ll arrive at their own destination, these swine infested streets will be empty. They’ll be far more indulged in the assassination in City Hall, they won’t have time to respond fast enough at the soon-to-be decimated memorial landmark across town.  
Droog simply smirked to himself. This is going to be an excellent start to a happy new year.


	3. Bustling Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the sudden hiatus, I've become distracted and indulged in some personal projects and small side-jobs. But, I hope this chapter makes up for all of it!!

It has only been three days since New Years', and the news-press was still running wild with conspiracies and idealing leads to both uproars of criminal activities throughout Midnight City. Droog sat back with a delicious cup of coffee and newspaper, reading through all the misleading and delightfully wrong feed the press had summed up: 

 

  

"DEATH AT CITY HALL

In addition to the New Years' destruction of the beloved memorial, a frightening and horrific scene was discovered by many shortly after the start of the  new year..."

As Droog had come to suspect, it would not take long before they found the body; however, he was surprised to see it make headlines after  the memorial had been destroyed. Nonetheless, it was nothing to raise awareness about, for now. Amidst the silence of the early morning hours, Droog was disrupted by the sudden ringing of the telephone line, buzzing in the living room. Laying the newspaper down, he grew curious at who could possibly be calling at this hour. Upon answering the phone, he gave a gravelly and gruff tone, "Hello?" 

"Droog." Spades voice rasped, appearing out of breath and very careful, "I gotta talk to ya', I'll be there soon." 

"Slick?" Droog's tone shifted to confusion, "What—Listen, if you need, I can pick you up." 

"No, don't bother, I got  somethin'  stuck to my shoe. I don't need it to track around on your clean carpets, you neat-freak.  I'll be there in a bit." 

"Are you calling from a payphone?" The question was redundant, as Droog had already known the answer, but nonetheless, Slick would humor him with an answer. 

"No, ya' ditz, I'm  callin'  from a god damn landline." A redundant question inquired a redundant answer. To no surprise, Droog was easily entertained by the fire-y take of Slick's answer. "Like I said," Slick carried on. "I'll be there in a bit. Leave the front door unlocked." 

"Use the back door, the gate's unlocked." There was a brief grunt and then the line went dead, a buzz humming through the speaker before Droog promptly hung up the phone. If what he suspects is correct, Spades would be here in fifteen. He would also refuse to take the gate, leaving the man to scrape and scratch at the front door—possibly ruining the paint job on the decently hard  wooded frame. What a waste, it would be, to see it destroyed, nonetheless, Droog wouldn't leave it unlocked just because Slick's in a hurry. If it's that bad, he shouldn’t be leading whoever's following him here. At least, that's what Droog figured.    
Sitting back down, Droog's eyes glanced and danced over the idea of what Slick could have. Perhaps it was over the dead body found in the bathroom of City Hall. A particular Officer James Watts found dead, brutally beaten and shot in the last stall on the right. Serves the pig right. No leads, yet, and there are many different reasons to believe on who could of done it and why, but they won't point any fingers just yet. He sipped on his coffee, delightfully pleased. 

Glancing down at his watch, Droog suggested that he could have time to spare a cigarette on the patio before meeting, the most  likely  to  be  out  of  breath, Spades Slick. As Droog stepped out back and lit a cigarette, he was graced with the gentle wind of the morning  air, brushing  by with the smell of potential rain in the forecast. The smoke trailed with the wind, dancing gingerly between each cool breeze . Droog watched in silence, sitting down at a small glass table—a decorative piece with a small ashtray needing to be emptied soon—and watched  as the moon began to set and the sun began to rise. If he could, he would have this to himself—no worries, no needs, no jobs. Only complete and entire tranquility of this moment.    
Losing himself in thought, Droog smoked away  his cigarette without realizing that he had almost burned through all of it and lasted now on half a cup of coffee before he would need to fill for another. Tipping the ashes in the ash tray, Droog was brought out of his thoughts at the sound of the gate's clasp unhinging from its usual position. Droog glanced over, seeing a familia r and very... wet Spades Slick slip through the tiniest crack he could manage from the opening. Droog gave a nod of the head and put out his cigarette as he stood from his chair. Spades panted heavily, growling at the sight of his relaxed pal. "Took ya' long enough...." Droog cooed, "I was beginning to worry you might of stood me up." 

"Get your ass in the house, ya' god damn flower-child." 

"Moving fast, are we?" Droog continued to joke as he opened the backdoor into the kitchen. "No drink first?

"Shut the hell up,  you had a cup of coffee." 

"Two, actually. You look like you could use one yourself, have you been out all night?" Droog asked before the smell of sweat and booze separated itself clearly in the closed environment of the home. Droog grimaced, "Ah, never mind the offer, smell's like you don't need one." 

"God damn it, I said shut the fuck up. That's not me you're smellin'." 

"If it's not, I'm afraid of who it could be." Droog said as he set his own cup aside to fetch a new one for Slick. As he poured a new cup of coffee for his boss, he couldn't help but jokingly offer, "So, how much coffee do you want in your bourbon?" 

"Half." Droog was only joking, but Sick was being serious. With that, Droog would comply, for now. Slick stripped out of his coat-jacket and button-up, leaving himself in his pants and bare chest. "Anyways, I got some serious business to discuss with you, and I think you know what it's about." Slicks eyes glanced over the newspaper. As Droog slipped back into a seat, he set before Slick the cup of coffee he offered and sipped at his own, cold, cup. Droog grimaced at that and immediately got up to get more coffee. 

"Alright, what kinda business are we talkin' here? The good kind? The bad kind?" Rhetorical, Spades, don't answer that.

"The business-y  kind." Spades answered defiantly, as he pulled his own cup to his lips and took a sip. He then scoffed a bit, coughing here and there. "Fucking shit—the hell?!" 

"You said half."  Droog  mused as Spades settled down from his initial shock. Well... he _did_ say half. Spades couldn't argue. 

"It's just...hot, that's all...." 

"Anyways," Droog said, taking his seat again. "Business, you say, business-y business. The kind of business that you deal business with and... business. Define." There fell a silence between the two, and soon enough, Slick became more than hesitant to say. 

"Droog, we've been real careful with how we run things, wouldn't you agree?" 

"More than enough, of course." 

"No funny business, no clowning around—I mean, if we were clowns , we'd be part of the circus, you know?" Droog shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head, "And I mean, I hate clowns, but I think you already knew that." 

"Gee, Spades, I couldn't tell. Was it the first or the fourth time you attempted to stab Bimbo that I figured it out." He said, "You also hate the circus, that's why we stopped inviting you to go." 

" **THAT WAS ONE TIME** , and _Bimbo the Crazy Fuck_ had it comin'!!" 

"He was _performing_ , Spades, _the flower squirts water_." 

" _That wasn't water_." Spades hissed, "That was something else, I know it! My brother pulled that shit on me too many times for you to tell me otherwise." 

"... You had a sad, sad childhood, didn't you?"

"That's not the point!!" Spades hissed, "Look, Droog, there's no clean way to put this and there's no  sugar coating  involved here—did you or did you not have anything to do that with pig James's death?!" 

"You truly have a way with words." Droog said as he rose from his chair to collect the ruined clothes from Spades's seat. As he did, he began to wander off, leading Spades with him to the washroom. Before Spades could say anything, he was interrupted by Droog's answer, "No, Spades, the answer is no. I did not have anything to do with Officer Watt's death." As Droog began to clean up Slick's clothes, Slick eyed the man very, very carefully. 

"I'm leaning on a thin branch here to back you up, Droog." 

"Stop leaning on the branch and get to the base of the tree, that's the sturdiest part of it, I would think ." 

"I'm not here for your smart-ass philisophical bullshit. I'm here to confront you about serious matters! We don't kill cops, and for good reasons!" Droog glanced at him for a moment and continued on in his work. 

"It's more common sense than philosophical. If you're leaning on a branch, then it means you're doubting the one man who's been by your side for years." He said, "And I would think that you would trust in me not to do something out of the ordinary, like that. It's never been my ill-intentions to seek out revenge that goes against the crew."

"Droog, are you hearing anything I'm saying at this point?" 

"I'm hearing everything that you're saying, Spades, and I'm baffled to think that you would be led to believe  that I would endanger the crew's business over personal matters." Spades caught that statement and raised a brow at that. He wouldn't say anything for now, but let the statement sit and simmer.

"Like I said, we don't kill cops and for good reason. The way that Sleuth's riding my ass, I wouldn't doubt for one bit that the bastard is trying to pin something on me this time, or worse—on you again. It's only the beginning and the last thing I want to do is see you in those shining cuffs again." Droog stopped at that, lowering the clothing as he thought over those words carefully. 

"When did you talk to Sleuth?"

"Shortly before  I called you. I was out getting a drink, and the bastard was there slurping down whatever the fuck he calls a drink—fruity bastard." He said, "It was hard enough getting that bastard off my trail to talk to you. You're a suspect in the murder case, Droog, at least, that's what I'm assuming after what Sleuth told me." 

"And what did Sleuth tell you exactly?" 

"Just enough to make me worry." 

"Is that your answer to the question?" 

"I dunno, are you gonna continue dancing around the subject like you're innocent?" 

"I _AM_ innocent, Spades, I've already been there and done that—frankly, I would much rather not go back." Spades stopped there, knowing that Droog was telling the truth, at least on the last statement. With a gentle sigh, he nodded his head in agreement. 

"I'd rather  _not see_ you  go back, so I'm trusting what you told me was true. Don't lead me to believe otherwise." Droog dropped the subject almost as immediately as it was picked up. With a small sigh, he nodded his head and followed on to a new subject. 

"When you're done with your coffee, the shower's just upstairs. You can retire in one of the guest bedrooms if you're tired, but I have business to attend to later this afternoon. I'll need you to leave by then." Slick was silent for a few moments, watching Droog carefully. 

"I'll wait for my clothes to get done, then I'll head back to HQ. I got some paperwork that needs to be signed, since it's piling up." Droog glanced at Spades over that and soon set the clothes in to wash with a few other items that needed to be cleaned. As he quickly made his way back to the kitchen, he grabbed his cup of coffee and newspaper and led the two to the living room, where he settled down into a comfortable recliner. 

"I take it business is bustling again?" 

"More so than ever. Production out the ass for what it is we're dealing in. I told you I had some ideas for the future and these ideas are innovative to our success at running this city. We're sitting on top." Droog smirked, sipping his coffee.

"What a time to be alive." 

"Damn straight, Draco." 

 

 

 

 

It didn't take long before Spades was out of  Droog's  hair with a cleaner set of clothes on his back and a higher head held on his shoulders. By now, the clocks read 8:00 AM all throughout the home, leaving Droog to curse and mutter at the wasted morning to himself. As Droog began to clean up after Slick's rambunctious mess of plates and coffee, he ran across one of Slick's belongings—his favored knife he normally brought around for luck. The damned thing was old, but well kept. Not used often, but for better occasions like their arguments. It was a gift Spades had been given by Droog—a way of saying "Thank you" after all of what they had gone through. The object held much sentimental value to Spades, so being so careless to leave it lying around didn't make much sense. This was possibly Spades way of seeing Droog again—an excuse to slap a contract in Droog's hand. 

  
Droog would return it, eventually, but not right away. For now, he had other things to tend to. Other business he had to manage. 

Slipping the blade into one of his coat pockets, Droog gathered his things necessary for this hunt and set out from the house. Tonight's victim was a lesser known fellow, not a cop, by the name of Easter Dave. The kid owed Droog some money, and like hell he would take another "I-O-U" Blow off bullshit. Either the money comes up front or his head will. Today started out a good day, and it had better end the same way. 

 


	4. Easter Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christ, I really don't know how often I'll be putting this off. Goodness, I'm so sorry. ;;v;; Thank you so much for those who are sticking around and hoping for an update. I'm so happy you guys like it. 
> 
> Well, I'm back now, I promise this time that I'll try to update at least once a week. Goodness, oh goodness, I'm so sorry I disappeared again, I've been working on some important projects and things.... ;;v;; But here we are! Another chapter!

Spades fingers drummed against the desk rapidly, a fist pressed into his cheek and elbow propped up on an armrest and one question on his mind. Where the fuck. Was Droog. His expression shifted from stoic boredom to anger, slowly growing more and more stern until he gave himself a headache. Out of frustration, he snapped upwards out of the chair and slammed his hands against the desk. "That fucker." He barked, "I called him. I fucking called him, and he didn't answer!!" Which was true. Spades did call and Droog did not answer. He needed Droog here, he needed to run some ideas across the man before making any sudden decisions, but it apears to Spades that Droog would have it his own way and choose  _not_ to show. 

His eye twitched and he sat back down briefly before forcing himself up again to pace around the room. Something had been growing on his mind, something that gave him a sickly feeling in his stomach. Droog hasn't been himself, Spades knows that. It's not hard to realize if you pay attention. Even if Droog's character is quiet and apathetic, there are somethings you cannot play off, Draconian, there are some things you can't do properly even if your life depended on it. Ever since Sleuth pinned Droog for what he did--ever since Droog got out of prison, something about that man hasn't been right. Spades knew better than to question something if he wasn't okay with it, but the signs were there. The tell-tail signs were so fucking obvious, and he should have said something to begin with. But no, Spades had faith that Droog would take care of himself. He always has, and he always will, but... not this time. 

Spades stopped in his pace and let out a sigh.... His shoulders dropped as his anger fell short of a decent attack. 

_You should have known, Spades, you should have known. The way he would look at you, the way he would quiver and wince when the guards told him time was up. You should have known something was up, but you never addressed it. You simply thought the man could take care of himself, but you don't know what goes on behind those walls. In that concrete hell, sure you've heard stories, but you should have realized just how terrible--just how frightening it really is in there. You shouldn't.... You shouldn't beat yourself up over these sort of things. What's happened has happened, and for whatever reason, you didn't take it for what it was, you took it for what you thought was best. The better outcome. Droog was okay. He is okay. He's just angry...._  

Spades snapped out of his thoughts as he heard a familiar knock at his office door. With a slightly hesitant gesture, he proceeded to then open the door, as if preparing to leave somewhere. Behind the door, a familiar tall lug stood, looming over him. Wide eyes stared up in surprise at the man, and before he could speak, he was beat to the punchline. "Spades. We need to talk." 

 

 

Droog wandered aimlessly down the street, hands in his pockets and cigarette lit between his lips. He just finished up business with that punk Dave, and only had time left to spare for a coffee. More coffee, he would think to himself, more time to figure out what's really going on. More time to subtly express his distaste for these pigs--these filthy fucking creatures in uniform. Normally, Droog wouldn't mind them. He never did. But those long, agonizing days in prison--in that stupid orange jumper, those terrible metal tools of binding--it changed very quickly. 

As he paced down the street, the sound of sirens rose in the distance. He stopped only a moment to listen as they whizzed by towards the last place he visited. Chewing on this cigarette, Droog knew better than to be out in public like this. Droog knew better than to be seen close to wherever crime might have taken place, but like a black cat crossing his path, he found his luck running just short of fortune with ever officer he passed. And the worst part--he simply could not reason with himself. 

Droog knew there was something wrong. He knew that there were some things he refused to deal with, and prison was the unfortunate part of those things. Out of everything that had gone on, he knew that somewhere in the depths of his distrubed mind, the blank memories he held onto, there was something missing that would explain these minor episodes of anger and judgement. It wasn't like him to act out of character in public situations, but the words that would fall from a pig in uniform would be the equivilance of nails to a chalkboard--screeching in his ears at full volume. Just the thought was enough to get his blood boiling, and without realizing it... he had burned through his third cigarette. 

The piece fell to the floor as he stepped on the smoldering end. Just then, a cop rounded the corner, catching the end piece be crushed under the mobster's foot. The officer stopped and raised a brow at Droog who simply prentended that it wasn't his. The scowl on his face dared the officer to say anything, and unfortunately, he did. "Sir," The officer muttered, "You're going to have to pick that up." Droog stopped, staring at the man intently before complying. The officer motioned to a nearby trashcan and sighed as Droog complied to throw it away, "Don't let me catch doing that again." The officer warned and soon carried on his business. Droog remained silent, watching the man take a moment or two before wandering away. That's fine... Offier Mitch, keep walking....

 Keep... walking.... 

 

Turning on his heals, Droog waited for the man to make yet another round at the end of the street before following after him....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, yeah this is pretty short. But this is going to just help me get back into the flow of things. I'll update again later tonight, something a bit longer than not. But again, sorry about the long delay, but thank you for sticking around. I'm really glad you guys think this is good, especially considering it came out of a tispy whim of an idea. ;;v;; ❤❤❤


	5. Easter Dave (Part 2)

_The officer continued to pace down the street, then rounded the corner into an alleyway. Growing suspicious, Droog followed the man in curiosity, falling just short of rounding the corner. Something in the back of his mind screamed for him to stop and turn around._

 

Spades slammed his hands on the desk, a hand reaching out and grasping the unkempt tie tightly, "Don't you fucking dare tell me that shit, Sleuth." Spades snapped, the detective fumbling to keep his balance as he was nearly pulled over the table. "I know my men, and I know the fucking well--these boys would do absolutely nothing towards any of yours unless they had a fucking reason. We've never killed any of your pigs and we never will." Unless it's Spades slicing your throat, they'll only be mamed, but Spades would never say that outlout. This bastard before him must of felt like he was on fire, having already booked one for the slammer, he might have considered being able to book another. Sleuth had a hand braced against the desk, the other gripping Slick's wrist--he winced slightly as the tie tightened around his throat. 

"Calm down," Sleuth gagged, "Slick, let me go. I'm not--not saying that it's true, but it's a suspcion." Sleuth scoffed. Slick tightened his grip and yanked again, causing Sleuth the hack in distaste as his windpipe was shut for a moment. Slick let Sleuth go, watching as the man recoiled and coughed, desperately loosening his tie. "All I'm saying is--is that it's a possiblity. I don't want to take any drastic measures in the case that it's not true. But, Slick, what do you expect from me?" 

"I'd expect you to do your fucking job, that's what." 

"And how do you think I'm supposed to do that if I followed  _your_ rules?!" Sleuth snapped. Slick paused for a moment... then sighed. As Sleuth fixed himself up, he gave Slick a very stern look, "... Spades, my intentions aren't just to bring you down, but to bring you to justice. Any means neccessary but only as long as it means its completely just. No dirty work involved--per say... a set up." That caught Slick's attention.

 

_Contemplating the idea, Droog dug through his coat to pull out yet another cigarette... and finding that he was almost out made the rightful decision for him anyway. Turning away, he pulled a cancer stick out and lit it, taking in the venomous smoke. He then continued back on the path he was taking towards a coffee shop, but not without noting the odd lack of security running through this street. This area in particular is subdued to countless crimes, and normally would be crawling with cops, but... today seemed oddly... quiet. He continued on his way, nonetheless, oblivious to the gagging officer that had just spoken to him._

 

"What are you trying to say, Sleuth." Spades stated as Sleuth stopped at the door. Sleuth glanced back at the mobster he's been after for years and gave a pittied look. Licking his lips, he looked towards the floor and shook his head.

"Where is Droog, Spades?" Spades paused, he didn't know.

"Out." Slick replied, "Taking care of some business deals." 

"Is he?" Sleuth raised questions, "How do you know that? Because, just then you were cursing about how he didn't answer your phone call." Slick grit his teeth, "And you admit he's been acting strange, no doubt?" Slick opened his mouth to start barking at Sleuth, but Sleuth beat him to the finish line as he paced towards Slick in an aggresive manner, grabbing his uniform tightly. Sleuth raised his voice, " _Two_ of my officers are  _dead_ , Jack. And there aren't any leads aside the fact that  _both_ of them were the men who assisted in arresting your buddy, Diamonds." Sleuth's expressions grew more angered, more upset. "I'm at my wits end, here, and that's the  _only_ lead I have to go on! Now, I'm not sure about you, but as Midnight City's best detective, I know for a fact that it doesn't take a man like yourself to realize the connections!!" He shoved the mob boss backwards and raised a finger to him warningly. "I've had no problem in the past putting bastards like you away, you dirty cop killer." Slick had braced himself back against his desk and glared. 

"What do you mean by two?!" He asked over Sleuth's faint insults, "Last I checked, there was only one--" 

"--That's because I requested the second not to be published, by both the family and the press." Slick eyed the detective who had finally slipped his hands into his coat pockets. "That was for your pathetic sake."

 

_Droog rounded corner after corner, feeling uneasy in his chest. He made no obvious motion to look behind him, but he felt watched. There was no doubt that he was a suspect in this recent developing case. He would need to leave, he would need to get out of the public eye for a while--Slipping into an old gas station, Droog proceeded to buy himself a new pack of cigarettes and cheap, trashy, coffee. It'll be enough until he gets home. At least, that's what he's hoping. Upon leaving the station, Droog made a sudden shift in courses and proceeded to head towards the office building he knew Spades would be at._

 

"I'm not sure what's going on with Droog," Spades said to Sleuth in a tone of defeat. "But, Sleuth... hold out on anything you've had planned. For now at least. Let me figure out what's wrong, okay?" Sleuth glared at the man for a long moment, silently debating whether or not it would be a good idea. Slick groaned softly, rummaging through his drawer for a bottle of something he'd keep in stressful times like this. Snapping the neck on the unopened container, he promptly poured himself a glass and groaned under his breath. Sleuth continued to stare at him a bit longer before giving a defeated sigh. 

"You have under a week." Sleuth said, "And if you don't check in with me with either evidence that he didn't do it or leads to other people, I'll be forced to raise my hand." And like that, Sleuth left without another word. Slick was about to say something in spite of what the detective gave him, but found the man already gone. Slick groaned under his breath again and sipped at his drink instead. 

"Fucking hope you can prove me otherwise, Draco-boy." Slick muttered to himself, "For once, I want to know I'm wrong." 

 

 

 Droog entered into the office, looking around a bit hesitantly. He closed the door behind him and shut the blinds in a casual manner. Spades was laying back in his chair, feet propt up on his desk. The bottle still having yet to be even halfed at his drinking rate. "..." Slick peeked up from his laid back manner, "... glad you could finally join me, Droogy." Spades waved slightly. Droog eyed him for a long moment, a small hint of disgust across his face as he stood in his own shadow, glaring. Spades sat up and raised a brow at him. "I'm not sure why you're upset with me, Jackass, I tried to call you." Spades motioned for Droog to take a seat. Droog did not sit. Spades eyed him very carefully. Before he knew it, Droog was reaching into his pocket and pulling out the blade Spades had left at his own house.

"I'm sure you tried." Droog murmured, "And if not you still had other methods of getting me here." Slick gave a sly grin at the taller man and then shrugged. 

"I get my way whether you like it or not, Droogy. What can I say? I am the boss of Midnight after all." Droog didn't reply. Instead he paced to the front of the desk and threw the knife down in front of Slick. Slick eyed him carefull before giving a very.. cold stare. "... sit down, Draconian." Spades muttered in a very dark and demanding tone. Droog resisted for only a split second before taking his seat. Slick leaned forward resting his elbows on the desk. "... we need to talk. And I think you know what it's about." 


	6. Get a Grip!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry! I know I said I would update at least once every week, but things got in the way and the universe said "Lol, nah".  
> It feels a bit selfish to say that, but I am sorry ;;w;; Here you guys are!

Droog's eyes remained averted, incapable of looking up at his superior's judgemental glare. Slick held no sympathy at this point. This silence that fell between them began to choke the air, the atmosphere becoming stiff, becoming dry... stale. Spades waited for a long moment before leaing back in his chair and gave a heavy sigh. "So," He said, "I've got a few plans I need you to overlook." Droog's attention drew to the sudden shift in mood, "A few more businesses to look into. Like, yeah, sure," He waved his hand. "It's possible that it won't help our image with the detectives, but who gives a damn. Morticians are a high paying business, and we have plenty around here. I know we associate with one, but why not two? Maybe three?" Droog blinked a few times, eyebrows furrowing in obvious confusion as he drew in a breath. 

"Uh..." He leaned back, cocking his head slightly. "I'm... sure it's something we can work around. It's not the first time we've done something like that, but... I thought you had something to talk to me about?" Spades raised a brow at this and huffed.

"What? That is what I wanted to talk to you about. I've been calling your lame-ass landline in an attempt to get you here. And, if that didn't work, well-" He picked up his lucky blade and grinned widely, "I had other ways." Droog nearly choked on the breath he had been holding, letting it go in one steady sigh. 'I mean, tha'ts not...' were what he began to mouth, but Spades caught him up, "I mean... unless there's something else you want to tell me." Spades eyed Droog, his actions, reactions, his behavior. It was suspicious. Droog raised his hands and shook his head. 

"No." He said gruffly, "No, there's nothing else. I just, thought you had more to what Sletuh said-"

"-What slueth said, don't give a damn. He's just an balloon full of hot air--up his own ass." Slick grunted, eyes still locked on Droog's, "Though, it's a bit  _funny_ you'd bring him up, Droogy. Got somethin' on your mind?" At this point, Spades stood up, beginning to prowl. He walked ever so sweetly around his desk, and began to gingerly pace back and forth around Droog. Droog seemed a bit unnerved at this point, knowing he messed up his own 'stoic' act. He slowly stared down at the ground, chewing on his inner cheek. "It's not like you to keep secrets from me, is it Droogy? After all, this  _partnership_ of ours wouldn't be  _much_ if you hid something...  _important_ from me." Spades enunciated certain words with more and more emphasis, giving his statements a harsh  _bite_. Droog took a deep breath, closing his eyes to slow down his racing mind. He was paranoid. There was nothing to worry about, he was simply... paranoid. "What's the matter, Droog." Spades stated more than he did ask, his anger becoming more apparent in his tone. Droog's eyes snapped open, finding the man dangerously close in front of him.  _THAT_ made him uncomfortable. He felt his heart jump as he began to scoot the chair back a bit, trying to give himself more breathing room. Spades stopped him with a simple foot hooked under the edge of the seat, "Where ya' goin' Draco?" Droog swallowed audibly, and as he began to snap up, Spades just as quickly shoved him down, "Why ya' panickin'?" Droog at this point was holding his breath, his normally stoic, collected, and calm figure began to unravel. His knuckles became white as nails dug into the side of the chair. If all fell silent, he was sure anyone could hear his heart racing, or his lungs screaming for him to breath.

In a stiff and uneasy tone, Droog struggled to mutter, "I'm not." Spades smirked. 

"Right." He immiedately pulled away. The moment Spades moved away, Droog let out a slightly relieved sigh. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, a hand running over his slicked back hair. Spades walked back around his desk, a hand reaching into a half-opened drawer, pulling out another glass. Twisting the cap off his bottle, Spades poured a new glass, sliding it to Droog as he simply refilled his own. Droog glanced up at Slick with a raised brow, "You look like shit." Spades muttered in a tired tone. This shift in gesture made Droog a bit more uneasy. Spades gave a heavy sigh and sat down, tossing back his drink in two large gulps. It burned, but just the way he liked it. Pouring himself yet another glass, he eyed Droog who barely reached up to take his own. "Ah..." Spades grunted, "You never answered me, Droog." Droog eyed Spades for a long moment, "What do you think of these ideas of mine? Funeral homes, not private ones--public. Make some extra cash along with our dues..." 

Droog let out a gentle grunt, picking up his drink and sipping at it. He felt drained... tired. Still on edge, he answered ever so softly, "It's... a good idea, J-... Slick. In someone else's name, at least, I'm sure it'll... it'll really take off." 

 

 

Droog entered into his home, turning on almost every light in his house as he did. From the livingroom to his bedroom, to the kitchen and the bathroom--something in his mind just did not settle well. He felt... paranoid. But why? The only thing on his mind was earlier from today's incident, from Slick's interrogation. In the bathroom, Droog cupped water into his hands as the sink ran, splashing it over his face to calm himself. Maybe if his head would stop doing backflips, maybe he could actually reason with himself. He knows Spades knows, that's for sure, and he knows that Spades knew how to unravvel him _j_ _ust like that._ And he knows-

The phone in the other room started ringing. Droog snapped out of his thoughts, staring blankly into the hallway.   
_Ring... Ring.... Ring... Ring...._

Something about that sound brought him peace. The insensitive ringing emptied his mind. He took a breath, beginning to ground himself. Where was he? ... He was in the bathroom, holding a towel... The towel felt cold, damp from the water on his hands--the water felt slick. What was he hearing--he heard the telephone ringing, the buzz of silence that followed after it. He heard the water rushing out of the sink, and the draining tha followed it. He could smell nothing in particular, just the usual dainty oder from bathrooms, his cologne as well. Taking in a few small breaths, he closed his eyes, turned the water off, and set the towel down. He stood there for a long moment, getting a grip on himself and the world around him.   
Screw answering the phone, whoever was calling--if it was important--would call again. He'll let it ring. The moment it stopped, he peared out of the hallway and headed on his way out. He turned off the light, making his way through the various rooms he had just been in and turning of those lights. Soon, he made it into the kitchen, feeling his stomach rumble in emptiness. Had he even eaten today? He couldn't remember. With that being said, he figured he might as well find something. Whatever he was just thinking about, he pushed it to the back of his mind, proceeding to them work on fixing up a new pot of coffee. He wouldn't be sleeping tonight, he could feel it. And just as he pressed the buttons to get it brewing, a knock came from his door. He stalled, still as can be. As if being still would make it go away--who is at the door? It's far too late to have company, and Slick couldn't be there. Slick was busy doing something else, at least, that's what his mind told him. After a few moments of silence, there was another... hesitant... knock. 

The sound of coffee brewing took his attention. It would be a bit before that was done, he supposed he could open the door. And so he did, swinging the door open without any form of hesitation. If they were going to attack him, he'd be alright with it. From behind the door, there stood.. no one. Whoever it was must have left. For good measures, he peeked his head out, and still, no one appeared. Shrugging it off, he entered back into his home, locking the door and returning to the kitchen. The coffee brewed slowly, and in the mean time, he preoccupied himself with cooking. He wanted something... sweet, at least. Something not too sugary but something that would suffice the sweet tooth he had.   
Halfway finished with cooking, Droog began to think over the information that gathered in his mind.  So... 

Sleuth was talking to Slick, possibly over the death of that one cop from city hall. Interestingly enough, Droog didn't know why he would, that officer had no correlation to him whatsoever, but he also assumed that no one else had been killed in the time he was stuck in prison. But it didn't make sense to immediately point fingers at him unless there was some form of proof to show. Droog was certain that in the time he was in prison, people were ending up dead--it would be unreasonable to expect otherwise. It was unreasonable to think he was the immediate suspect, considering they waited for the rest of those few weeks before even jumping back on schedule with his job. And Slick almost immediately, after hearing the case from a stupidly drunk Sleuth, proceeded to confront Droog, but... why? Even if he did kill the man, there shouldn't have been any eye-witnesses. Everyone was already preoccupied with drinking and dames to think twice, and even then, he managed to make it out without an suspicious behavior. Droog grumbled under his breath, eyebrows furrowing as he thought over every moment from that night. There shouldn't have been any reason to suspect him.... Unless there are murders occurring that Droog didn't know about, but if so, then why wouldn't they be in the newspaper? Especially considering Droog is more than thorough with cleaning up, there is no reason t accuse him.  
Droog racked his mind over this, grumbling under his breath. That would explain a little about Slick's behavior. Perhaps there were, and maybe Slick knew about it. That's a possibility. And if so, that would explain Sleuth's interest in Droog, but why so suddenly him? Then... a thought crossed his mind. Almost immediately, he stopped what he was doing to head towards his phone. But he stopped. 

Droog stared down at his watch, it's half past midnight. Slick, whatever he was doing, would still be busy. At least, Droog reasoned with himself. He didn't want to jump to conclusions with this stuff, and instead meticulously planned out what he would say instead. He would wait for the morning to visit Slick... ask a few questions and then... reason with the answers. If he had to, he'll go as far as to talk to the Inspector on these matters. He knew that anxious bundle of nerves like the back of his hand... he was sure to get the boy to talk one way or another.

 

 

 


End file.
